<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>the night dream declared war by miserybug</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26017399">the night dream declared war</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/miserybug/pseuds/miserybug'>miserybug</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>why do you write like you're running out of time? [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft - Fandom, SMP live, Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dimension Travel, Dream SMP War, Dreams, Friends to Enemies, Gen, Unreliable Narrator, kinda???, this is such a weird crossover</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:46:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,097</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26017399</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/miserybug/pseuds/miserybug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tensions rise and each player goes off to prepare for the upcoming battle, but something far, far bigger is brewing. </p><p> </p><p>It was only inevitable that Wilbur's past would catch up with him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Connor | ConnorEatsPants &amp; TommyInnit, Karl Jacobs &amp; Toby Smith | Tubbo, No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot &amp; Jschlatt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>why do you write like you're running out of time? [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891264</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>337</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Dream SMP Connected Storylines</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. in the eye of a hurricane (wilbur)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this au was originally developed with everythingFangirl over on the VT discord. it's such an incredible idea!!! this fic is HOPEFULLY going to be part of a bigger nd overarching story. hopefully you'll get more information on the characters and the plot as things continue :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The night Dream declares war, Wilbur struggles to stay awake throughout the night. It hasn't stopped storming, and the brass buttons on his revolutionary's coat glint gold with each flash of lightning. It must be hours after he finally gives into sleep's embrace. </p><p>He dreams of a wall. Not of blackstone and concrete, not of watermelon and stone, but of nothing. It's barely visible, more of a barrier, a bubble that's ever so slightly iridescent under the calm glow of the moon above him. He stands in an empty field. He's barefoot in the grass, his yellow sweater keeping him warm in the gentle breeze. Beyond the wall is blurry, like it's too far away to make out. Instinctively, he steps forwards. Again, and again, and again, until he's suddenly almost pressed against the barrier like a child at a window on a snowy night. And finally, the image comes into focus. </p><p>Beyond the wall is a tree. It looms and it flourishes and the moon paints it a pale white near the edges. The scene is picturesque. He looks closer. It's a fruit tree. What looks to be a single lemon, or, no- maybe an apple, grows off of a hearty branch. The stars twinkle and the fruit glimmers gold. Wilbur's stomach growls. It's a nice dream, a good break from the tensions on the SMP. It reminds him of a simpler time, of a city where the only chaos was caused by bits, where the only crimes were petty theft at the hands of himself. A time where he didn't have the weight of the nation on his shoulders, only stolen diamonds and pet fish and a naïve innocence that he'd do anything to get back.</p><p>Without thinking, Wilbur reaches a hand towards the tree like it's a long lost friend.</p><p>The barrier pops not with a bang, but with a whimper. It's the aftermath that speaks louder.</p><p>The wind picks up. Clouds roll in, and the stars fade from view. Wilbur is standing in an empty field in a yellow sweater that he no longer even owns when lightning strikes the tree. The tree burns, pale moonlight drowned out by golden flames. It's poetic imagery, a burning bush and a prophet, a burning tree and a poet. And as the fire paints his face orange and burns the grass he stands on black, the ground rumbles. He whips around to face the forest behind him. A volcano bursts from the ground in a cloud of black smoke and debris. The ground parts like the Red Sea, tearing like paper and crumbling to dust in front of him, ravines splitting the earth in two. With a boom, the volcano erupts in time with malicious laughter. It echoes through the air with seemingly no source, and Wilbur remembers lava rising, empires falling. It's a familiar laugh. In the plumes of smoke that emanate from the volcano, he sees a figure. It’s a man, dressed to the nines, and on his head are two- </p><p>Wilbur wakes up in a cold sweat. He rubs a hand across his forehead and it comes back dirty with ash. The storm is coming, and he has so much work to do.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. talk less (tommy)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The night Dream declares war, Tommy falls asleep the moment he hits the bed, exhaustion overwhelming him. Tubbo's working through the night with his villagers, Eret's gone to collect netherite, Fundy's.... doing whatever Fundy does. Things will get done. The war will be won, he's confident in that much, but not tonight.</p><p>He dreams of a city. There's no wooden path, or railway bridges, no green or pink kings to tell him what to do. The city is silent, like a picture frozen in time. He stands under a statue. The golden monolith towers above him and glows a warm orange from the lamps embedded in an S shape in it's center. Behind him, someone clears their throat pointedly. He whips around and goes to pull out his sword, but there's nothing on his belt. He's empty handed.</p><p>There's a man in front of him. His suit is well pressed and Tommy looks down at his own red and white baseball t-shirt feeling very underdressed. The man smiles at him sadly, like he knows far too much. </p><p>"I'm sorry," he says, and Tommy goes to speak but nothing comes out. "I hope everything turns out okay in the end." Tommy doesn’t know what the man’s apologizing for. He looks at the man closer. He looks tired. There are bags under his eyes, and his shoulders slump like they hold the weight of the world. The man shuffles his feet uncomfortably under his scrutiny, and beckons him over to a campfire under the great tree behind him. Tommy sits, more and more confused by the minute.</p><p>The man straightens his purple tie and takes his cap off wearily, balancing it on a fishing rod with gloved hands. </p><p>"He used to mean well," the man says (and he doesn't look much older than Tommy himself.) Tommy can't say a word, but he tilts his head, a silent question. The man smiles and looks at the campfire. It's smoldering, and the coals are almost out. "You'll figure out who someday. But... your friend, Wilbur? You need to help him, Tommy. He's going to need it." He places a gloved hand on Tommy's leg. </p><p>"They all are."</p><p>The deadly seriousness in the man's gaze catches him off guard. He nods slowly, solemnly. The man laughs, and for a moment, he looks nostalgic. He takes off his suit jacket and sets it in between them. Tommy picks it up to examine it closer. The stranger speaks again.</p><p>"You're really not that alike, you know. You're a good kid, Tommy. Remember that." He sighs, and Tommy can only watch with wide eyes. It's really starting to piss him off that he can't speak. "I'm not sure if he ever was. I mean, Sch-"</p><p>Without warning, the street lamps go out. The fire flares, nearly catching the canopy above them ablaze. The man in the suit jumps back, ending his sentence abruptly. Rain begins to patter against the canopy of the great tree they sit beneath. For a moment, the stranger's eyes flash with fear and anger and some form of regret. Malicious laughter floats through the air even though neither of them speak a word. He looks at the man sitting next to him, feeling like he's frozen in place. The man smiles sympathetically, his expression heavy with guilt and heartbreak, and he nods. "Good luck, Tommy. Trust no one."</p><p>Morning comes. Tommy wakes up with a start, confused and with a raging headache. He stands to go find Tubbo and doesn't notice the suit jacket that rests on the jukebox in the back room.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. nobody needs to know (tubbo)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>edit 2/27: replaced character with karl jacobs</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The night Dream declares war, Tubbo doesn't sleep. He can't, not when they're outgunned and out planned, not when they're fighting a war against a man who stops at nothing to get what he wants. He trades, and he builds, and he steals, and he kills. There's no rest for the wicked, and well. They don't fuck with the fabric of reality with their hacks purely out of the goodness of his heart.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He works in the jungle. The trading center is makeshift and illegal, and he tells no one but Eret where he is so he can deliver supplies to them. The soft patter of rain accompanies them while he works. He works in silence, focused, plotting, brewing, constantly checking his communicator for signs of a Dream SMP member coming near his location. He wipes sweat from his brow and turns to get a drink of water.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sitting in a tree is a man. He's swinging his legs childishly, and he closes the book he holds with a thud and an impish grin. He hops down from the tree with a clumsy grace and jogs towards Tubbo with urgency the moment he spots the teenager. The guys's unarmored, but the glowing book in his hand is something Tubbo’s never seen before- and not in a good way. Tubbo tosses on his netherite armor. Screw the rules of L'manberg, he's not dying here, not with this much to lose. The man laughs and brushes off the aggression with a tight smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Tubbo!” the stranger cheers. Tubbo nods cautiously, unsure as to how the man knows his name. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You shouldn't be here!" he exclaims, "Who are you- did Dream whitelist you?" The man tilts his head and pauses, like he’s not sure of the answer himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Who said I'm here?" he winks, tapping the spiral shape on the cover of his book with a knowing look. He’s a bit too much of an eyesore to be normal, Tubbo notes. His purple trenchcoat is neon and the green goggles on his forehead reflect light in a way thats not quite natural. "Anyways, I just came here to warn you. You’re a smart kid- and... you deserve better than what you get, man. He'll probably underestimate you, when things get really bad. Use that. He’s full of himself, forgets other people can play tricks too. Both of them are. I’ve seen it happen before- it’ll happen again." The man is rambling, and he sucks in a deep breath when he finishes spitting out advice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo shrugs, and he laughs nervously. His mind flickers to Tommy for just a moment. “I... what the hell are you talking about?!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man hums, shaking his head sadly and wincing when thunder begins to rumble. “I know what you’re hiding, Tubbo.” Tubbo freezes in his spot and his fingers twitch towards his sword. Surely Dream wouldn’t notice if he used just a bit of reach assist, right?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...I don’t know what you mean.” He watches the man closely, hoping he doesn’t notice the skeleton behind him slowly start to take damage as he turns kill aura on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stranger gestures frantically and apologetically. “It’s- no, sorry! That sounded ominous, shoot. I just mean... it’s admirable that you want to pretend to be like the rest of us. I get it- <em>trust me,</em> I do. But you’ll need to give it everything you’ve got. Please.” It’s only then that Tubbo notices just how tired the man looks- his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who’s he?” Tubbo asks, ignoring his secret being spilled and wringing his hands together as he lets himself relax. The man sighs, and turns to walk away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll figure it out.” He shakes his head, before pausing like he’s just remembered something. “Oh! That’s right. Tell Sapnap and Q I say hi when you see them, yeah? Let them know I’ll meet them soon.” The man has a sappy grin on his face. Gross.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There goes another mention of someone he doesn’t know. “Who’s Q-“ Before he can ask anything more, he blinks and the man is gone in a flash of green and purple light, the only proof he was ever there a note on the ground. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>”<em>You got this! Oh, and sorry if the details of this meet get a little blurry! I’m not really meant to be here ;) -KJ</em>” He reads out, squinting at the strange cartoon character drawn in the corner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...Well then. With shaking hands, he pockets the note and looks back to his villagers. They stare at him expectantly, unaware of what took place. He stands in silence for a moment, listening to the villagers murmur gossip behind him. Slowly, unsure of what else he can do, he walks towards the trading center. For tonight, his secrets are still safe. For tonight, they have a war to prepare for.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. i held my head up high (fundy)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The night Dream declares war, Fundy tears off his crayon colored suit and runs his claws through his fur and grabs his ears in rage and shouts “FUCK!” before crashing into his not-so-secret secret den and falling asleep. He’s not a guy to get frustrated fast- but he is a guy who really doesn’t want to lose to Dream and has spent the last few hours being spoken to by Wilbur like he’s a child. It’s enough to make any guy’s fur go gray, honestly. </p><p>He dreams of a truck. He’s on the open road and a digital clock on the dashboard shows it’s 1:36 AM. He looks to his left and a boy around Tommy’s age is driving- that can’t be legal. On his face is a white mask, reminiscent of Dream’s, but paired with a pink hoodie and a white headband like Sapnap’s. The kid looks over, and tilts his mask up for just a second, showing a young boy looking unsurprised and sympathetic. </p><p>“Trust me- being babied is ten times better than being an unpaid intern,” the kid says knowingly. He flips on a turn signal and begins to merge onto an exit with practiced ease. “But it does have it’s similarities, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Wh... what the fuck is going on?” Fundy shouts. The kid just hums and laughs, turning the radio up slightly. A familiar jazzy tune plays through the speakers. </p><p>“You’re dreaming, dude. Some rough things are coming, though. Guess the universe thought I'd be alright at giving you advice.” The kid pulls into a rest stop just off the exit and then turns to face him. “You’re Wilbur’s rock, you know that right?” Fundy didn't know that, and doesn’t really know what to say. The masked boy continues, unbothered by his silence. </p><p>“Wilbur’s a good guy, Fundy. But he gets stuck in his head sometimes. And... in the future, you need to be there for him. He trusts you. Don’t let hi-“ he pauses, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Don’t let anyone pull the rug out from under him.” </p><p>Fundy rubs his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “So, wait- you know Wilbur?” The kid nods and laughs, this laugh sounding more forced than anything. </p><p>“Of course that’s what you’d focus on. I knew him- didn’t know he had a kid though, that’s for sure. Just remember what I said. You....” The kid pulls off his mask, suddenly looking very old and sad. He looks down at his hands, like they're to blame for all of the world's problems. </p><p>“Just do better than I did, okay?”</p><p>Fundy’s not quite sure what to make of that, but he turns and looks at the kid. He's young, but he clearly knows what he's doing. He puts a hand on his shoulder, and gives him what he hopes is a confident smile. </p><p>“Look- i’m not sure what’s going on here... but I trust you, okay? And I trust Dad. I don’t know what’s happened to you, but I’ll make this right, whatever this is. I promise.”</p><p>The kid’s smile is wide, and it’d warm Fundy’s heart if his eyes weren’t still so resigned. “Thanks, man.” The kid says, and it sounds disbelieving to even Fundy’s ears. Jesus, he thinks, what happened to this kid? And what did it say then, that the universe had decided he would relate to him? There’s a fear that settles into his chest and stays with him as he drifts back into reality. Whatever it meant, he didn’t exactly want to find out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. god help and forgive me (eret)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The night Dream declares war, Eret accepts a deal that both he and Dream know will end the war before it starts. He sits on a throne of gold and lies and turns a brand new crown over in his hands in contemplation. His chest is heavy with guilt, and he stands to look out the window. In the distance the blackstone walls of L’manberg stand strong. Only a few days ago, he built those walls up by hand. In only a few days time, he will tear those walls down by hand. He knows his bonds with the revolutionaries will tear in time with his betrayal. The promise of power Dream has given him doesn’t make that hurt any less. He goes to bed with a heavy heart and reddened eyes.</p><p>He dreams of a kingdom. It’s long abandoned and empty, but it stands in perfect condition, each brick placed with precision and each house built up to code. Red and yellow banners flow from a looming castle. There is no one inside, and the world stands eerily silent. He enters with caution. As he walks through the large oak doors, they slam shut behind him.</p><p>Beyond the doors is a throne fit for a king. Two coats of fine material rest on its arms, one of blue fabric and one of green. A third, far more worn and a crimson red, lays discarded on the ground. A pair of sunglasses sit neatly folded on top of it, and Eret goes to adjust his own subconsciously only to find none there. He glances to a distant window, and his reflection shows pupil less eyes for the world to see. He feels exposed, but strangely he doesn't seem to mind. Curiously, he approaches the throne. </p><p>Whispers pick up as he approaches the chair, disembodied voices mumbling incoherently from every corner of the room. The only comprehensible one goads him on in a strongly American accent that he can’t quite place. It's closer than the others, hovering right behind him. </p><p>Subconsciously, he finds himself smiling.</p><p>“Take the throne, kid,” the voice whispers, and Eret leans down to grab the red jacket and sunglasses from the ground in a fluid motion, his smirk growing wider. “Sometimes,” the voice continues as Eret shrugs on the red coat and fits the rectangular shades upon his face, “you have to burn the world to the ground to make the one you deserve.” Eret reaches the throne, and sits with a finality and a confidence that feels new, but not unwelcome. He looks out at the empty throne room and watches as the sun rises through stain glass windows over his new kingdom.</p><p>“You got more than you gave,” the voice whispers again, and Eret distantly realizes the accent is more of a New York accent than purely American. He remembers making the deal with Dream. Betraying his four closest friends for unimaginable power. Inevitably losing a war with the people he trusts, or the glory of a nation under his control. The choice seems less and less difficult the more he ruminates. He imagines the revolutionaries faces when they realize he’s on the winning team, and stifles a laugh. It's pretty funny to imagine, honestly. Somehow, their past friendships seem far less important than the paradise he’s going to build in the ashes of L’manberg. </p><p>Eret’s smile doesn’t leave his face as he nods. “And I wanted what I got.” he finishes, and the voice hums in agreement. He feels something rest on his head. He reaches a hand up to touch it, and finds the crown Dream had given him sitting innocently upon his skull. The red coat and crown really do look quite good on him. He lifts his chin, and he stares out at the fallen kingdom that sprawls before him in his dreams. </p><p>“Long live the king,” he says, and the voice speaks with him in unison. He's not sure whether it was his thought or not, but he doesn't really care. Thunder rumbles outside.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. you'll be back (dream)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The night Dream declares war, he goes to bed with a smug smile on his face and not a care in the world. A nation living out of a van with cobbled together armor and the need to fight with words would be easy to topple. Fun, even! A few jokes about his so-called greed wouldn’t stand a chance against a fucking sword. The conflict would end, and everything would go back to normal once they saw just how stupid they were being. </p><p>He dreams of a forest. He’s in a clearing, the night sky above him bright and the air is cool and crisp. With only a quick examination of his surroundings he can tell there was a battle here- a big one. Whole trees toppled, pitfalls and explosions littering the ground. The earth is scorched, and debris covers the floor. It’d honestly look more like a natural disaster came through than anything else if it wasn’t for the clear path it created ahead of him, stumbling footprints still fresh in the wet dirt. He follows the path, twisting a few bits of sharpened debris in to a sword and careful to watch his surroundings. </p><p>Beyond the forest is a mountain. The clear sky shifts into a swirling storm, black clouds covering the tip of the mountain in an ominous fog. There’s something at the center of the storm. He climbs the mountain easily, rappelling up what looks to be long cooled lava flows that provide all too convenient footing. The beginnings of plant life peek out from the smooth black rock, green and healthy. The mountain- which he now realizes must be a dormant volcano- flattens out at the top, leading to a massive hole in the center. There’s a man sitting on the edge. He’s wearing cargo shorts of all things, the strange green sash around his waist clashing with them horrendously. The man motions for him to sit next to him, seemingly unbothered by the makeshift sword in his grasp. </p><p>“Are you sure this is what you want to do, Dream?” the man asks, his glasses glinting in the setting sun. Dream sits down next to him, unsure how he knows his name. </p><p>“Do what?”</p><p>The man sighs, and he runs a hand through brown hair. “You made that world for your friends, didn't you? You spent so much time together, having fun, playing pranks. Do you want to tear it all apart?”</p><p>Dream makes a noise of exasperated disagreement. The stranger sounds like George did when he first proposed his plan. “They’re the ones tearing everything apart! Who the fuck do you think you are, telling me this when you don't even know me?” </p><p>The stranger lets out a bitter laugh. Dream's had enough of the condescending laughter from Wilbur, and the fact that it's now invading his dreams isn't exactly welcome. “He’s playing you like a fiddle. He did the same to me once. He did the same to all of us.” he looks down into the volcano, like that explains anything. Dream follows his gaze, and watches slimes spawn and bounce in the overgrown center. </p><p>“Who’s he?” Dream asks, curious. The stranger sighs, and a small slime spawns in his palm. it sits peacefully, completely calm. Dream watches in awe, immediately on guard at the sight. </p><p>“An old friend,” the stranger says, like that means anything. “And an older enemy.” The man continues, obviously not finished. </p><p>“Look- you can go through with your war. But at the very least- you’re not an idiot. Don’t let the chaos get to your head. Don’t let history repeat itself, Dream.” he lets the slime drop into the volcano. It bounces down, unharmed. </p><p>Dream rolls his eyes. “What, does history have it’s eyes on me?” the stranger chuckles, and shakes his head. </p><p>“No, not really. But someone far more dangerous does. Don’t let this all end in disaster, Dream.” he laughs again, like it's some sort of inside joke. Dream's real tired of all this laughter.</p><p>“You don’t know me. Don’t tell me what to do.” Dream stands, frustrated.</p><p>The man laughs again, and the sound mocks him and rings in his ears. “You don’t have to listen. But someday, you’ll have to regret. And when that day comes, just remember this, Dream.”</p><p>The man stands as well, and turns to face him.</p><p>“You’re not the hero here, and if you continue like this, you never will be.” the man tosses him a golden apple, and Dream catches one handed on reflex. He looks down at the apple and realizes he’s no longer wearing a hoodie, but a stiff suit, like the one Tommy occasionally wears. His head feels heavy, like there are weights on either side. The man glances over at his outfit and meets his eyes. His expression is disgusted, all false pretense of camaraderie gone. </p><p>“If the shoe fits, wear it. I hope your size changes soon, though. For everyone’s sake.”</p><p>With a guttural cry of frustration, Dream tosses the apple aside and lunges for the stranger. He swings clean through where the man once stood, but nothing's there. He grumbles again and tears off the suit jacket before stalking back down the volcano. What a know it all dick. </p><p>In the distance, lightning strikes, and a tree burns.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I speed-ran uploading those chapters but uh. Hopefully more to come soon!! I hope you enjoyed this collection of snippets, and if you have any questions I'd love to answer them without spoiling too much. Thanks for reading!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>